


and i think it’s gonna be a long, long time

by poetryhoetry



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 22:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetryhoetry/pseuds/poetryhoetry
Summary: when he steps on stage he feels alive.but then, he goes backstage once again, and it all stops.





	and i think it’s gonna be a long, long time

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so this isn’t fanfic (i know crazy) but idk i got a sudden burst of motivation and a good idea so i ran with it haha. it’s not fanfic like i said BUT it does have some strong influence from the movie rocketman since i’ve been super into it lately and it’s amazing. so yeah i know it’s not my usual style but i hope you enjoy!

when he steps on stage he feels alive.

the thrum in his veins, the harsh beating of his heart. the pounding in his ears. all of it makes him alive in every sense of the word.

but then, he goes backstage once again, and it all suddenly stops.

the thrum in his veins returns to a dull thud, his heart beat evens out, and the pounding in his ears turns into the quiet voices of the stage crew packing up.

that’s when the voices get loud. in the lonely, dull light of the dressing room. surrounding by nothing but mirrors, showing the reflection of a tired, worn down man who’s simply given up.

he gives everything he can on stage, that he has nothing left to give when the stage lights dim. the only place he feels like himself is behind an instrument and his own stage bravado.

he’s made a mask out of his art form, and the only thing that truly makes him happy.

in a way, he’s ruined the only thing that makes him happy.

but he’s lost all his sense to care about it for even a second. 

he closes his eyes and suddenly he’s back in his hotel room, arranging his suitcase to take the next trip to who-knows-where.

he feels a tap on his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond, instead choosing to stare at his socks stacked neatly in the corner of his luggage.

the person gives up quickly, because as soon as a presence was felt behind him, it was gone. 

it was probably longer than he thought. he’s been pretty out of it lately.

he looks up from his suitcase to see his wife looking at him from across the bed, tears streaming down her face. he blinks and she’s gone.

he shakes his head, gathering his belongings and heading to the elevator with the rest of the crew. 

he leans his head against the cool metal of the elevator, closing his eyes for a second.

or what he thought was a second.

the next thing he knows he’s sitting in the tour bus, head lolling against the window beside him.

he shakes his head, getting up to go to the small corner in the bus, known as the bathroom. he splashes his face with cold water, rubs his eyes, slaps his cheeks to try and wake up his brain.

nothing seems to work.

he runs his hands through his hair, taking large chunks of his hair with them.

he throws them in the sink, washing them down and throwing himself into a bunk to sleep.

sleep never comes.

he simply lays down in the dark, lumpy space of his bunk and stares at the plank of wood above him for eight hours, mind feeling like a fuzzy TV.

he thinks of everything and absolutely nothing. he thinks of his wife back home and how disappointed she’ll be when he tells her they’re getting a divorce. he thinks of his dad, who's probably giving his new sons hugs and kisses to wake them up for school right about now. he thinks of his mum, who’s at his house right now to housesit while he’s away, probably ravishing every man she can on every surface available. 

he thinks of the container of coke pressing against his thigh in his pocket, and his face breaks into a smile. 

he ungracefully rolls out of his bunk and steps to the bathroom corner, closing and locking the door.

he taps some out of the container on a piece of toilet paper and snorts it, falling back on the toilet seat with a dazed grin.

he sniffles, making sure it all goes down before cleaning up and going back to his bunk with a blissed out smile.

his thoughts of his wife are gone, his thoughts of his piece of shit dad disappear, his thoughts of his gold digging mother fade away.

his thoughts of how much he hates himself go away, too.

all his worries slip away with no harm done.

none at all.

and the next thing he knows he’s back behind a piano with a bright smile stretched across his face, blinding lights making him squint. 

and he repeats the process all over again.


End file.
